


Heartbreak Girl

by xCake



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Dark!Steve, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 23:51:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19452061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xCake/pseuds/xCake
Summary: After the Accords, Steve became what felt like – to you – an entirely different person. Where once he was gentle and kind, now he was bitter and rough.All Bucky wanted was to ease your pain, and for a bit, he did. He held you for what felt like hours, and he didn’t say a word.[ Dark!Steve x Reader // Bucky x Reader ]





	Heartbreak Girl

**Author's Note:**

> **Requested on Tumblr** : Can I get a fic inspired by Heartbreak Girl or Treat You Better set after the accords mess, where Steve turns into a jerk and Bucky secretly has feelings for reader?
> 
> I used [Heartbreak Girl](https://open.spotify.com/track/54dlOdOzVCjbf9PY3WVrvn?si=9_ZiV3QoRPey-MmeQ-eaHw) as inspiration (obviously). 

Steve had changed, and you hated him for it.

After the Accords, he’d become what felt like – to you – an entirely different person. Where once he was gentle and kind, now he was bitter and rough.

He started to do things in bed that you didn’t like: pulled your hair, slapped your ass or, occasionally, your face; whispered things to you that made you feel ashamed to let loose and enjoy yourself like you’d done so many times before with him.

Despite the fact that this was the 21st century and women these days were less sexually inhibited – in fact, a woman could express her sexuality more now than ever – there was something within him that never truly let the 1940’s go.

Steve valued chastity. He valued purity. He valued everything that you’d never ever been, and when the two of you first got together, he knew that. He’d been fine with that. He told you that he loved you the way you were, but now, that purity was what he wanted most. It wasn’t something you could give him.

Of course, it wasn’t like you were unfamiliar with rough sex. You used to enjoy it with him once, when he first got into it. You’d done it before with other men, too. It was a good way to let out some frustrations – and Steve, well, he had a lot of them, to the point that it was the only thing he wanted these days. He never treated you gently anymore, never whispered the sweet nothings into your ear that you’d grown so familiar with, that you preened for, longed for. Instead, he said your name like a curse, manhandled you, and gave you orders. 

You complied, because you loved him.

When you went on missions together, they were awkward and uncomfortable and it only got worse the longer the two of you refused to admit that your relationship was falling apart. There was a pronounced change in the way you acted around him, and vice versa, so much that even the others started to notice. Whether it was Sam or Nat or Bucky, someone always made a joke about the tension. It wasn’t really a joke, though, and deep down you knew that. It was a thinly-veiled way of expressing their concern. 

At first, you’d been able to brush it off. You’d just grin and wink and say, “He’s just a little cranky today.”

Except he wasn’t. Everyone else knew it too.

You couldn’t brush it off for long, especially not after Bucky pulled you aside in private once to ask if you were alright. There were marks on your wrists that you hadn’t been able to fully hide. The black leather of your gloves covered the majority of them, but not all and your concealer was meant for dark circles, not bruises. It washed away.

Steve’s fingers were too tight around your wrists. He left bruises far too often, and Bucky had seen them. He always saw them.

“I’m _fine_ , Buck,” you hissed at him, like he’d caught you doing something shameful. “It was an accident. You know how he is. Let it go.”

Your reasoning was that Steve didn’t know his own strength. Bucky knew that was a god damned lie, but he did as you asked. He let it go.

You hated the way he looked at you with pity. You didn’t want it or need it. You could handle this. You’d dealt with worse before, with all of the brutal training and abuse and torture you’d been through once upon a time in the Red Room. This certainly paled in comparison.

Except in some ways, it didn’t. What you’d been put through before was impersonal. What Steve did to you was the opposite: entirely personal. It hurt. It stung. In some ways, it broke you.

The hallways in this dingy motel were exposed to the elements, dark and cold. It was three in the morning. Of course they were. You’d never really noticed it before, never had a reason to. Normally when you walked these halls, you were with the others. You were with the team.

Tonight, you were alone. Steve had used you, just like he always did, and then he’d gone to bed. You couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping next to him tonight. He’d been worse than ever.

You didn’t know what you expected when you knocked on the door to Bucky’s motel room. Maybe you wanted someone to listen. Maybe you wanted someone to _care._ Steve certainly didn’t, at least not anymore. Just like he’d broken you, something in him had broken, too. You couldn’t blame him for it. He’d been through far more than he could handle.

You left a couple of staggered raps on the door before it finally opened. Bucky was still half-asleep, wearing a plain black tank top and a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He rubbed his eyes blearily as he took you in, but the moment he saw that it was you, it woke him right up.

The too-large t-shirt on your small body was in tatters. It was one of Steve’s, he vaguely noted as he stared at you. It was the only thing you were wearing. Your soft thighs and legs and feet were bare. When the breeze picked up, he didn’t let his eyes wander anymore, almost afraid that you had nothing on underneath.

You didn’t. He didn’t look away quickly enough.

“Bucky—”

It was a harsh, choked sob, the way you said his name and it damn near killed him to hear it.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s alright,” he soothed in what was the most tender, loving tone you’d heard from anyone in weeks. His warm hand on your shoulder was a small comfort as he gently brought you inside out of the cold.

Your skin was like ice to the touch, probably because of the weather and it made him wonder how long you’d been wandering around outside. You noticeably flinched when he touched you, and when he looked closer, he saw why. Your arms were littered with bruises. The back of your neck, too, and your thighs.

 _Fingerprints_. 

His temper flared instantly. What the hell was _wrong_ with Steve to treat you like this, treat you so poorly—

“Don’t,” you rasped, placing a gentle hand onto his cheek. “It’s okay, Buck. Let it go.”

 _Let it go._ You always told him to let it go.

God, you were so fucking small and fragile and it drove him _insane_ because he knew Steve had just as much power in him as he did from the serum – and Steve had directed that at you, the sweet, small, fragile thing that you were. You were breakable in a way that made his heart ache. He would never, ever treat you this way.

But you didn’t want him to protect you. You didn’t want him to defend you. He wasn’t really sure what you wanted, really. It was three in the morning and you’d shown up on his doorstep like it was normal to show up on someone’s doorstep wearing nothing but a ripped t-shirt and nothing underneath.

His expression must have shown it all because you looked up at him through your lashes with those big doe eyes, like you knew they’d disarm him the second he saw them. Your fingers brushed against the stubble on his jaw and your thumb traced his lower lip, which sent a chill through him that it absolutely shouldn’t have.

“Hold me,” you said so quietly, he almost didn’t hear it and for a split second, he thought he must have misheard you. It must have been too long a pause because you added in the most pitiful, desperate tone he’d ever heard from you, “ _Please?_ ”

Jesus Christ, he’d hold you for however long you wanted him to.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you like you were absolutely everything to him, and, if he was honest with himself, you were. He’d been in love with you for far too long and as much as he’d tried to get over it, get over you, he couldn’t – despite the fact that you and Steve were so happily in love.

Except you weren’t. Not really. Not anymore.

Your body was soft and pliable and so, so perfect against him. Before he even realized what he was doing, he was pressing kisses to your forehead, to the crown of your head, breathing in the scent of your sweet shampoo. His flesh hand was tracing sweet, delicate patterns on your back with entirely too much familiarity.

You didn’t say a thing. Instead, you leaned into his touch, buried your face in his chest and cried.

All he wanted was to ease your pain, and for a bit, he did. He held you for what felt like hours, and he didn’t say a word. When you finally pulled away, your eyes were still glistening with tears.

Something inside of him broke at the sight.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he begged – actually _begged_. Bucky Barnes did _not_ beg, but when it came to you, he absolutely fucking did. “I’ll help you. Let me help you. Please.”

All you did was smile at him through your tears. “Don’t worry about me, Buck. I’ll be alright.”

He knew you would. You’d be alright, but that didn’t mean you’d be happy.

Unspoken words lingered on his tongue – _I love you, Christ, love you so fucking much_ – but he didn’t say them. He wouldn’t burden you with that. Not when you were already suffering through so much.

When you pressed a kiss to his cheek, all he wanted to do was keep you there with him – but he let you go, just like you always asked him to do. He let you return to the supposed sanctity of the motel room you shared with Steve, with his best friend who’d been so corrupted by this fucking mess of a situation that he’d been taking it out on you for weeks.

Bucky slowly walked you to the door, holding your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was a gesture of love, of intimacy. The way you looked at him right before you unlaced your fingers from his was enough. Your eyes sparkled with what might have been love for him, once; but you loved Steve more than him, even though Steve put you so much turmoil and left bruises on not just your body but your heart.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, barely audible. What you said to him next was lost on the breeze. It was either a sweet, “Thank you,” or a heady, “I love you,” but he’d never know for sure because you didn’t didn’t repeat yourself and you never again visited him in the middle of the night.

Instead, the two of you shared glances every now and then that told him all him he needed to know. Some part of you loved him, too.

You’d never act on it, and neither would he. 

You were Steve’s girl, and you always would be.


End file.
